


someone had to tumble and someone had to stand

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger, Anti-Daenerys, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Murder, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dragons, F/M, Fainting, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Gen, House Stark, House Targaryen, Identity Reveal, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Madness, One Shot, Other, POV Daenerys, Parallels, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Political Alliances, Political!Jon? maybe, Politics, Post-Season/Series 07, R Plus L Equals J, Shock, Snow, Snow and Ice, TargBowl(TM), Targaryen Madness, Violent Thoughts, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Dragons plant no trees, and Daenerys did not plan to compromise.MAINLY ABOUT THE JON/DANY RELATIONSHIP, BUT NOT A PRO-DANY OR PRO-JONERYS FIC.[title from 'New Blood' by Zayde Wolf.]





	someone had to tumble and someone had to stand

Daenerys could feel the fire inside her, an inferno built from all her pain, from her loss, from being so close and so far and so much and so little, and yet, for the first time that she knows of, she feels it peter out. 

Ghost had broken his usual silence to growl at her and all her people, and his displeasure with his own human had been disappointing enough. The family that Jon loved so dearly did not spare her any smiles or pleasantries - Sansa gave Tyrion one small smile with greeting, and offered Daenerys and her companions bread and salt, trusting that Tyrion and Jorah would explain anything about guest right that their queen had need to question. Arya was fully armed, a constant, judgmental, shadow to her sister. Brandon spoke quietly, in riddles, only to the family he kept seated next to him; for somehow, Sansa Stark had gotten the remains of House Tarly, too. She’d won Jaime Lannister by the grace of her sworn shield, along with support from the woman’s father - and thus, a portion of the wealth of Tarth - and now the houses of the south that meant to leave Cersei had filtered their money and their words to the independent North. 

A North that had, in its king’s absence, abandoned him for his sister.

But she was not his sister.

Jon had warned her, of course, both in great seriousness and after moments of pleasure, that the North would not accept a Targaryen easily. She knows he did not lie about that, for now she knows his own hatred of the family they share, now that his disgust and his vitriol has driven him from her tent. 

She, Sansa, and Arya are the only ones who rush after him immediately when he storms away from Brandon’s announcement. Ghost comes a moment later to drive her away from the godswood where his sister-cousins follow him, and Jorah catches up to her only to remind her not to follow, and it’s then, with snow fluttering about as though their old gods wished her to drown and her forearm hot underneath Jorah’s hand, that Daenerys gets the chance to think.

Jon’s reaction is not about her, and yet it is. He’d made her think he’d come to love her, but the way he cursed his own father rings in her ears and she can no longer imagine he does. He’d cursed them all, cursed her actions against the traitorous Reach, he’d reminded all present that the Northern lords had agreed that a Targaryen was not to be trusted as though he had counted upon that - and perhaps he had. Perhaps he had come to her planning to swindle her for all she was worth. Their romance, his abdication, Tyrion’s support, Cersei’s betrayal, Sansa’s queenship...perhaps he had known what to expect all along.

Perhaps he had even known that her throne was his by birth, and was only acting a part so that she would pity him as well as love him. If she loved him as she’s felt she does, she’d wish more dearly to share, but he would rather _choose to be a bastard a hundred times before giving up Ned Stark for Rhaegar Targaryen_.

“I was afraid you’d say something like that,” Brandon had replied, smooth as stone, but no one but Daenerys and Missandei had seemed the least bit surprised at Jon’s statement. 

He _wants_ Jon to have the Iron Throne. They need me now, but they’re never going to _want_ me. It’s all a game to them. 

One more slip on my part, and they’ll have me dead.

Jorah’s tight grip on her arm is all that stops her from stomping into the godswood. Eventually, he offers his arm to lead her back to her tent, and she accepts, her teeth still gritted and eyes still seeing red, capable of little more than pondering what Jon and his sister-cousins were planning within the trees. 

All is silent in her tent, somehow, as though no more words could be said on the matter. Perhaps her own advisors were scheming with Brandon Stark, too, and that was why nothing could be said. Only Jorah and Missandei loved her, and Missandei would be more concerned with her feelings than with the political climate. Varys was...Varys. Tyrion was still sat by his brother, who stood guarding Brandon, apprehension on his face as great as when she’d brought Drogon to the Dragonpit. 

_Drogon._

Flame fills her again, and she knows what she needs, and while someone follows her no one stops her as she stomps through the developing camp over to where her children - her _two_ children, for she’d lost one saving Jon - lay, a sheep’s corpse between them. She can’t recall what Jon had agreed to them eating; she can’t care. Rhaegal turns to look at her, but only Drogon comes forward; her eyes fill with tears as she leans against his snout, letting herself be warmed by his air even as his body feels cold against her cheek. There are too many thoughts in her head for her to focus on any of them, and she lets them go.

She’ll never know how long she stays precisely like that. She might have been content to do so endlessly, but Sansa Stark interrupts her moment of near peace, a cold voice cutting through the colder air. 

In the aftermath, Daenerys doesn’t remember if she even heard what the woman meant to say; something about _compromise_ , something about _alliance_ , words meant to sound sweet, words that Dany can’t help thinking would sound sweeter from Cersei than from her.

_“I’ve given your brother my word.”_

_“Whatever you’ve given Jon, the **North** never agreed to kneel to you.”_

Dragons plant no trees, and Daenerys did not plan to compromise.

She’d be better off without the Starks. The North would see that she meant to wield her power, not to be shoved down by this petulant girl, and the lords and their soldiers would kneel, just as the Reach had done, just as Torrhen had for her forefather.

She almost hates to think of how she’d have to rid herself of Jon, too, but she sees his body, his drawn sword, the anger in his eyes as he holds himself in front of _her_ as he realizes what Daenerys means to do, and she realizes he’s made the choice for both of them.

She moves up Drogon’s leg, but Rhaegal blocks his own brother’s path with his body, crying out loudly enough she’s almost afraid the Night King will hear him, and she slips. Arms gather her before she hits the ground, and suddenly she knows nothing more.


End file.
